


This Is Why We Don't Have Nice Things

by shannonymous



Series: New Again [4]
Category: Captain America - All Media Types, Iron Man - All Media Types, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: FTM Tony, M/M, Oral, Polyamory, Smut, Trans Character, literally pwp, sloppy blowjobs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-05-04
Updated: 2015-05-04
Packaged: 2018-03-28 23:09:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,637
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3873313
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shannonymous/pseuds/shannonymous
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Steve cannot take them anywhere.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Is Why We Don't Have Nice Things

“I want to suck your dick,” Steve says from his spot across the table, nonchalant against the rim of his wineglass.

Tony gives him a heated, low look, but Bucky can’t tell if it’s  _I want to fuck you,_  or  _Of all times, Rogers_  or probably both; and though he chokes on his sip of the wine Tony suggested before the meal, he recovers quickly enough to ask:

“Which one, doll?” The question looks as if it throws the soldier off.

“You have choices now,” Tony quips as he sips at his water. “The millennium is doing all sorts of things for your libido, isn’t it?”

Steve pulls a face but it’s quick, quick enough that no one could ever catch him and say Captain America sasses his boyfriends. They could snark across the table, take turns, but it’d only be another competition, because there isn’t anything Stark and Barnes can’t somehow turn into a pissing contest.

Rolling a shoulder and pulling an easy smile, he says, “It was going to do all sorts of things for you, but I guess you’re too busy being a prick-“

Tony tips his glass towards Bucky.

“See, he meant me—“

“—Fuck you, maybe because you’d be easier on his jaw—“ Steve sighs. It’s a heavy sigh that he sighs quite frequently when the occasion calls for a long-suffering expiration of breath.

“Woah there,  _Barnes_ , we’re here in this nice establishment, eating a nice dinner—which you’re welcome for, by the way—and you attack me, we just can’t take you anywhere—“

Bucky pinches the inside of Tony’s thigh, quick and sure, but when Tony slaps at the offending hand, he misses and hits the table, glasses rattling in warning. Steve clears his throat with the same sentiment.

“Boys,” he says softly, “don’t embarrass us. We headlined the Globe that time we went to Times Square; we’re still on the front pages of gossip rags from our last dinner out, and—“

“Steeeve,” Tony presses, “But Steve, he started it.”

“I’ll finish it, y’spoiled fuckin—“ Bucky hisses when he deflects the hand coming for his face. They’re outright tussling now, grabbing at wrists and hands, pushing at one another and  _Christ almighty everyone is watching_. Steve ducks his head after giving the restaurant a quick once-over, smiling in his shy and charming way that seems to placate the public.

He fakes reaching for Bucky, swiping his hand at the glass half-full of a Petrus Bordeaux that costs nearly $3,000 a bottle (he used the Google to check this fact, fully expecting the truth but half-hoping, uselessly, that Tony wouldn’t just throw money at them like that). It lands upended in Tony’s lap.  
The dark red wine soaks into his dark navy blue (arguably black) trousers. Tony squawks loudly, indignant.

“Oops,” Steve apologizes, unapologetic. “So sorry, let’s get you cleaned up, c’mon Tony—“

He crowds Tony as they walk to the restaurant, and through the (not so quiet) whispers of the restaurant patronage and Tony’s (not so subtle) complaining he can distinctly hear Bucky mutter, “Unfair,” and the whirr of recalibrating plates as he crosses his arms over his chest.

Tony’s still rambling when Steve opens the door to the bathroom and ushers him in: “And I don’t think it’s at all fair that I’m the one with wine on my pants when I’m not even allowed to touch the stuff. And y’know this is a new shirt—“

“Tony,” Steve gets close enough to smell the wine soaking the man’s clothes and hear the sharp intake of breath, “Shut up.”

“But Cap,” he protests.

Steve dips down to mouth at the line where Tony’s collar meets skin.

“Shut up—“

"—Steve, wait—"

"—For Christ's _sake_ , Tony—"

The bathroom attendant clears his throat gently, finally grabbing their attention, and asks, “Should I leave you two alone?”

This isn’t a seedy kind of place, but even the rich people with furs on their shoulders can get a little randy when you feed ‘em a few glasses of wine. He knows better than to let (what his boss would call) “promiscuity” go on in “an establishment of this integrity” but he’s sure it isn’t every day that you see Captain Rogers trying to screw Tony Stark in a restaurant bathroom.

Steve, always quick to snap back to Captain America, flushes red when he says, “Please,” but he doesn’t move from his place.

“My good man,” Tony twists out of Steve’s space, slipping a folded up bill into the attendant’s hand as he leaves the room.

The attendant smiles when he says “Mr. Stark.” and closes the door behind him. In the silence of privacy they stand together, eyes locked and smiles quirked in amusement. Steve is trailing a hand through the wet spot on Tony’s trousers, however, and it’s becoming quite the distraction.

“Lock that,” is all Tony gets out before Steve’s mouth is on him, hungry and a little on the rough side. When the kissing turns to biting, Tony rolls his hips hard against Steve’s own, his wet pants effectively transferring the stain onto the soldier’s khakis.

“You’re insufferable,” Steve says when he pulls back to turn the lock on the door and drops to his knees. Tony’s already making quick work of his belt, but Steve is the one pulling Tony’s pants and boxers to his knees as he presses his face to the man’s groin.

Tony’s cock is swollen but small without the pump, and Steve can smell how wet he must be. Fingers card through his hair, guiding his mouth to where Tony is hot and slick and so responsive when he flattens his tongue to feel the weight of him against his tongue. He laps at the slick there, lazy, but the tile is unforgiving against his knees and they aren’t in their bathroom at home with all the time in the world.

He hums when Tony’s fingers  _scritch-scratch_  against his scalp in obvious attempts to hold his hips still as he fights the urge to fuck Steve’s face, and he laves his tongue against Tony’s swollen prick before sucking him. His mouth sucks a tight seal around Tony who jerks and whines at the feeling, fingers tightening in Steve’s hair at the shock of overstimulation. It’s damn near painful but he rocks into it, panting out the effort it takes to hold back.

Steve sucks him from root to tip and back down, chin wet and smeared shiny as he buries his face against the dark hair between Tony’s thighs. The sharp scent there spikes acrid and it has Steve fumbling to get a hand on himself as he pants around Tony’s prick, sloppily kissing the heavy swell of him.

“Yeah,” he pants, moaning as he palms the head of his cock, “god, Tony—“

“S’good,” his boyfriend responds, so responsive in his little sounds that he’s trying so hard to choke back.

Steve tries to swallow him, twines his tongue around the weight in his mouth; Tony makes a noise in the back of his throat, hips twitching forward. So Steve draws another low groan from him when his hand wanders from thigh to slit, pressing a fingertip against the slick and open hole.

“Just like that,” Tony pants, but it isn’t a request and Steve keeps his fingers shallow, stroking over the furled skin that seems to get only impossibly wetter. He sloppily kisses around Tony’s cock until the man is panting so hard his ribs are heaving, and knowing Tony is close is good enough for him to wring out a load into his boxers as he gasps against the man’s sex.

“Mm, Steve, please—yes—“ Steve curls his fingers to press his knuckles against Tony’s hole  _hard_  just the way he likes it without pressing inside, works his lips tight around his cock again just in time to feel it throb on his tongue. Tony doubles over, a sharp cry escaping before he breaks it off into tiny, open-mouthed moans with his hips rocking in helpless little rolls forward. His body goes tense before moaning out with the flick of Steve’s tongue that pushes him over the edge. He sobs in half-gasps after the pressure has swelled and peaked and left him a shaking mess.

The floor is starting to get uncomfortable but Steve works Tony through this lengthy orgasm, loving the little pulses of Tony’s sex against his mouth and hand. He catches Tony at the end of a pleasure spike, sealing his mouth over his stiff prick and sucking another orgasm out of him—weaker, but just as good, and Tony hums his approval as he pets Steve’s hair flat and presentable.

Steve pulls away from Tony, weaning himself from his addiction with soft kisses on soft skin. Boneless but clear-eyed, Tony pulls Steve into a standing position, kissing at his wet mouth.

“You’re a mess,” Tony murmurs, “can’t take you anywhere, Rogers.”

Steve doesn’t have a response for that other than the feeling of how bad he wants to take his boyfriends home. So he rolls his eyes and cleans up, checking the mirror once more to find he no longer looks like a debauched Steve Rogers and instead quite like a respectable Captain America, before turning to leave the bathroom.

Once he flips the lock, however, Bucky is sliding into the bathroom and pushing him out into the hall. He turns, surprised.

“Buck— what?”

Bucky glances over at Tony, who is still leaning against the counter with his trousers hanging about his knees and a just-fucked flush across his cheeks.

“We’ll meet you at the car in ten— “ Tony makes a noise and Steve absolutely does not pout—“Twenty minutes.”

Bucky flashes a quick grin at Steve’s put-out expression.

“Pick up the check, wouldja, doll face?” he asks before closing the door.

 

**Author's Note:**

> wanted some tony love; you're welcome. probably more in to verse if I get around to it


End file.
